


In Position

by plothound



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Armor, Armor Kink, First Time, Frottage, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Shower Sex, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 13:25:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13904919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plothound/pseuds/plothound
Summary: Two death troopers on assignment have some time to kill.





	In Position

**Author's Note:**

> Armor, coming in clothes, negotiation, vibrator (read: wildly improper use of a vibroknife), shower sex, first time, frottage.

ADT-6443 lay sprawled in the dirt, deep in cover, motionless. The target wasn’t due for some hours yet, but he could not have taken the risk of being spotted taking his position, so he’d been here since dawn. ADT-6459 was a little behind and to the side of him, macrobinoculars scanning for movement. 43 kept his rifle aimed at the sky. Part of him wanted to check the launcher attachment mounted below the barrel. He knew he’d slid it into position and connected it to the rifle’s power cell properly, but with a high-value target and time to kill, the endless loop of thoroughness that training had burned into him was fixated on the launcher. It was the only part of his current gear that he did not maintain and use on a daily basis, and if anything was going to go wrong due to his actions, it would be the launcher.

 

He resisted the urge. The launcher was locked into place, munitions loaded and ready to fire. He knew it. He would stay perfectly still, not risking detection.

 

He was about to give in and run a hand over the attachment when 59 adjusted a little with a slight exhale. 43 allowed himself a small sigh of relief.

 

“All clear,” 59 said on the helmet comm. His voice sounded pleasant in 43’s ear, familiar and reassuring. Their squad had been together for most of its members’ lives. Death troopers trained as finely tuned parts of a whole, much like the elite clone commandos of the Republic had. Alone, they operated well beyond the expectations of almost any other single soldier in the Imperial Army, but together, they were near unstoppable. The knowledge comforted 43.

 

The target was an Imperial shuttle, due to pass by this mountainside in the early evening. It was carrying an Imperial officer and a matching Imperial guard squadron. 43 didn’t mind killing the officer. The man was a traitor, and traitors died, without exception. Nor did he  _ mind,  _ exactly, that he would be killing the traitor’s guards, who might not be traitors at all, but the knowledge was there, in the back of his mind. He would kill them anyway, of course, as was his duty, but… 43 believed that he would remember today. He wondered if he would end the same way, destroyed as collateral to remove a traitor. He hoped that it would be on the ground, at least. He’d been in a crashing shuttle before.

 

59 shifted again. This time, he set the macrobinoculars down and let a gauntleted hand rest gently on the small of 43’s back.

 

Had 43 been moving, he would have frozen. As it was, he felt his breath stop.  _ “No,”  _ he hissed when he got it back. “We are not doing that again.”

 

59 didn’t remove his hand. “It’s four hours until the shuttle passes,” he said, and it was almost a purr. “You needn’t do anything.”

 

“Are you insane?” He almost turned his head to look at 59 and make his point. “There are militants in this valley. We cannot afford to move.”

 

“So don’t move,” 59 said, and this time it was most definitely a purr. He let his hand slide down a little, touching 43’s belt, and then to the side, following the line down and around to his stomach. He fingered a grenade, then an ammunition pouch. 

 

_ “Fifty-nine,”  _ 43 hissed. He mentally scanned a list of various invectives he’d picked up over the years, looking for a good strong one. “Fifty-nine, what the  _ fuck?”  _

 

“Relax,” 59 breathed. He let his hand slide down to finger teasingly at the buckle of 43’s ammunition belt, and then splayed his fingers over the codplate. “Turn up your comm sensitivity.” The low voice, played into 43’s ear by a fairly high-quality comm system, made it easy to imagine warm breath ghosting over his ear, soft lips brushing skin, stubble scraping— “I want to hear you get excited.”

 

59 turned up his own comm and set it for continuous transmission. 43 heard every breath, every movement, and closed his eyes when he felt himself stir behind his bodysuit. At least 59 wouldn’t know—the codplate was in the way. 

 

“Come on,” came the whisper. “Let me hear you.”

 

43 stayed motionless for a while longer before clicking his teeth to bring up the comm interface and used eye movements to adjust the parameters, quickly, in a flurry of annoyance. Then he returned to perfect stillness, looking through the rifle’s scope to scan the valley. He could hear his own breathing giving him away. An outsider wouldn’t have caught the difference, but the squad knew each other’s bodies as well as they knew their own.

 

“Ah,” 59 said. He sounded deeply satisfied. “Knew it. You’re all worked up, brother. Didn’t take much to get you going.”

 

“Do what you’re going to do,” 43 said shortly, “and be quick about it.”

 

“As you like.” 59 reached forward and pushed his other hand up between 43 and the rock he was lying on, reaching up his armored stomach with probing fingers and stroking the edges of his breastplate. “I’m going to make you come. Want to see how fast I can manage it?”

 

43 felt a sudden burst of serious concern. “Fifty-nine. You can’t unseal me. It’s far too dangerous.”

 

“I’m not an idiot,” 59 said. He sounded genuinely insulted. “Come on, Three, what do you take me for?”

 

“Don’t fucking know, do I?” 43 spat. “What the fuck are you thinking? The refreshers were one thing, but on a  _ mission?  _ How am I to know you’re not fucking mad?”

 

“Forty-three. We have hours. I just want to relax for a few minutes. Get this out of our systems. It’ll help us focus.”

 

“Oh,” 43 said. “That’s your motivation, then? To help us fucking focus? Doesn’t have anything to do with you letting your dick lead you around on a leash like a  _ fucking  _ civilian?”

 

“Three!” 59 sounded pissed. Maybe 43 had pushed it a bit far, calling him a civvy like that. It was one of the foulest insults in his repertoire. But his brother deserved it, endangering them like this. “Three, you fucking… if we weren’t on a mission I’d—”

 

“You’d _what?”_ 43 snarled. Oh, fantastic, now he was really pushing it. Part of him knew that if they kept this up one of them or the other was going to move and potentially give them away, but he was incensed, furious at the danger that 59 wanted to put them in. “You’d hurt me? You’d hurt your own fucking squad? Do you not fucking _see,_ you stupid fucking nerf? There’s a reason we’re not allowed to have sex, and it’s because it turns us into _fucking civvies.”_

 

“I wouldn’t do anything to you that a hit of bacta wouldn’t clear up,” 59 said. “Three. Call me a civvy again and I’ll have more than words for you when we get back to the ship.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Look. This doesn’t have to be a big problem like you’re making it out to be. It’s just a few minutes now and then. When it’s safe.”

 

“There is no  _ safe  _ time to break regulations, especially an important one. We’re here to execute a traitor. It is  _ not a good time.”  _

 

“We’re here to execute a traitor in four hours. I bet I can finish you in four minutes.”

 

The thought flipped a switch in 43’s memory. He was suddenly in the refreshers, hanging back to check on 59, who’d been facing the wall since shortly after the squad had gotten in together. It was after a difficult mission, one that had lasted days longer than it was supposed to. Everyone was caked in sweat and mud and blood, and they still had armor and weapons to clean before they could hit the bunks. They soaped up and rinsed off in the lukewarm water, quickly and efficiently, before leaving to dry off, get into their jumpsuits, and get through maintenance as quickly as possible.

 

Except 59, who was taking his time, unusually.

 

“Nine?” 43 asked. Perhaps his brother needed medical attention, or was fatigued enough that he’d need extra rest to be ready for action the following morning, in which case 43 would take care of his gear for him. He put a hand on 59’s shoulder and turned him.

 

Each member of the squad was perfectly familiar with every detail of his brothers’ bodies. They had learned carefully to immediately identify anything out of place. The smallest detail could be a sign of an injury, or even of treachery. No treachery had yet been observed in their squad, or indeed any other death trooper squad, but a few injuries had been caught in the refreshers before, early enough for quick treatment to stop any permanent damage. 43 would have scanned 59’s body closely if the problem had not been immediately apparent.

 

59’s sexual organs were engorged.

 

43 pulled back, startled. He had only seen an erect penis twice. The first was an assassin, who 43 had tracked down within an hour of his attempt on the life of a moff. He had executed the man mid-coitus in a brothel. The second had been the same moff. 43 had walked in on him bending an attractive diplomat over his desk, and the squad had quickly been reassigned. He himself had never experienced an erection. He assumed that it was part of one of the various medications that he and the rest of the squad all took, or perhaps a byproduct of the intense focus on their duties that had been cultivated since they were small children.

 

He couldn’t help looking at 59’s groin. Staring, actually.

 

“It happened the night before we embarked,” 59 said. There was the faintest note of pleading in his voice, a desperate need to be cleared of wrongdoing. “I didn’t do anything different. I was just lying in the bunk and all of a sudden I looked down and—” He gestured helplessly. “It ached, so I touched it. Then I couldn’t stop, and after a while I—I came. Since then, every now and then, it happens, but I don’t touch it, I leave it alone.”

 

“What’s it feel like?” 43 breathed. “Does it hurt?”

 

59 shook his head sharply. “It’s good. It’s really good.” He reached down and gently hefted his balls with a scarred hand, making himself twitch and giving 43 an idea of how the thing moved. “Normally it goes away after a few minutes, but it’s not…” 

 

43 continued to stare, fascinated. “How long has it been like that?”

 

“Since before we got in the ‘freshers. I don’t think it’s going away.”

 

“What can you do about it?” 43 asked. “If you… finish, does it go back?”

 

“Yes. Or it did. I don’t know if it always does.”

 

“You should do it,” 43 said. “Get it back to normal, and then if it happens again, talk to someone at a medcenter. We need to get out of the ‘freshers quick, there’s no time to wait for it to take care of itself.”

 

“Right,” 59 said. He looked down at his groin and the swollen organ there. He put his hand to it, adjusting and hesitating a few times before he began to stroke. As he did, he shuddered, and 43 saw blood tinge his skin on his face, chest, and shoulders. His lips parted, and his hand sped up. 43 felt an odd stirring.

 

After a short time, the stirring had become pronounced. 43 felt something shift and glanced down. He started in surprise when he saw that his own cock was thickening. He touched it curiously and gave a soft gasp. Then he mimicked 59, wrapped his hand around himself and began to move in a steady back-and-forth motion. He made another soft noise. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. It was one of the most intense things he had ever felt, a sort of heat and tension surging through his groin and belly and tugging at his spine, as if there was a cord running through him that was being pulled at the same rhythm that he touched himself with, each motion arching his back and making his toes curl into the hard refresher floor. He put a hand on 59 to steady himself, and was shocked at how the heat beneath his hand made the pleasure surge.

 

He needed more.

 

He pushed 59 up against the ‘fresher wall and pressed their cocks together. He was surprised when he heard himself let out a sharp whine at the same moment that 59’s fingers dug into his back.

 

“Oh,  _ shit,”  _ 59 hissed. The fingers wrapped around his cock brushed 43’s, and they both seemed to get the same idea at the same time. They both moved at once, each putting a hand around both erections and beginning to stroke.

 

“Fuck,” 43 whispered. He needed stronger words. “Oh, fuck.” He’d suddenly discovered the most sensitive place on his body, and he was rubbing it up against someone else’s most sensitive place, and they were both whimpering and gasping and moving their hips in unsteady thrusts, hands rubbing, stroking, a thumb sliding out to rub his brother’s tip while the same thing was done to him, and something was happening to him that had never happened before, something was surging up inside of him, winding him like a spring until he couldn’t stand it anymore, and then further, so much further, he was lost, panting hard against 59’s neck and  _ needing—  _

 

“Four minutes,” 43 said, in his armor, in the jungle, lying on a stone, waiting for the target to arrive. “If you’re not done with both of us in four minutes, you stop, understand?”

 

“Four minutes,” 59 agreed. The hand that was still splayed over 43’s codplate squeezed enough to make the pressure known through the armor. “Four minutes, Three. You ready?”

 

“Just get it over with.”

 

The hand obligingly slid off the codplate and began to rub around the heavily reinforced bodysuit that protected any parts not encased in armor. Fingers pressed up against 43’s perineum, and he felt his breathing quicken again.

 

“That’s it,” came the deep, Imperial-accented voice. It was so familiar, but the croon that it was speaking in wasn’t. “That’s it, Three. Relax.”

 

43 was aware of the pressure of his bodysuit and codplate on his rapidly hardening cock, and of gauntleted fingers pressing up in delicate places, probing, ever seeking sensitivity, but he kept his eyes on his scope. If the shuttle arrived early, he wasn’t going to be caught off guard, no matter what was going on between his legs.

 

“I looked up some information,” the voice purred into his ear. “Had a bit of spare time. And it gave me such a fantastic idea. You’re going to love it, I promise.”

 

“Information on what?” 43 said, keeping his voice harsh and clipped.

 

“How people do it. HoloNet’s full of articles and vids on it, endless advice for people of any combination of species, gender, anything, so they can fuck.” The last word was delivered with a low rumble that made 43’s stomach clench, but not enough to distract him.

 

“You—” He bit his lip to collect himself. “You used our secure HoloNet connection to look up  _ pornography?”  _

 

“Nobody checks the history, Three. Nobody. That connection’s  _ ours.  _ Seemed only right to use it for something relevant.” 43 heard him smile. “And fuck, it’s relevant. I promise, you’ve never felt anything like it.” 

 

Anticipation was thrumming in 43’s chest and gut, despite his best intentions. That evening in the refresher had opened up an entire new world of sensation, one he hadn’t explored since, and he was eager to experience it again. Almost as eager as he was terrified.

 

Then he heard a perfectly familiar sound, one that he knew as well as his own voice, and froze completely in sudden mortal fear. “Nine. Nine, what—”

 

Something rounded pressed up against his perineum, which 59 had been lavishing with so much attention. “You’ll love it, Three. Promise.” The vibroknife switched on, and an agonizingly ecstatic thrumming spread through 43’s lower body.

 

“Oh.  _ Oh!  _ Oh,  _ fuck,  _ Nine!  _ Nine! Oh, fuck, Nine!”  _ He was screaming into the comm, not giving a shit that he was probably blowing 59’s eardrums out. His hips slammed into the rock, grinding his codplate up against stone without thinking,  _ needing, needing,  _ and he barely managed to take his hand away from the rifle’s trigger. The way he was shaking, his body utterly out of his control, he’d give away their position in a moment.

 

59 grunted softly in his ear, and 43 was distantly aware of hearing his mouth open and give a low moan. “Oh, shit. Come on, Three, keep making those sounds, keep making them, you can do it, let me hear how much you love it—”

 

_ “Fuck! Fuck! _ Oh, fuck!” 43 slammed his helmet down against the stone and cried out. It was the most insane pleasure he had ever felt. The vibrations felt like they were working up through his insides. He was rocking and thrusting, beyond any thought of the militants no doubt somewhere in this valley, thinking only of the knife handle that was rubbing up and down the exposed space between his legs and the screaming need boiling up in his belly. “Oh my fuck oh my fuck  _ oh fuck keep going—” _

 

“I know, Three.” 59’s voice was strained, panting. “I know, I’m not going to stop, I’m not going to stop, no need to worry, you’ll get all you need, come on, brother, come on—oh, shit, I know what to do. You’re going to love this, Three, you’re going to love it, just hold on, don’t finish just yet.” He pulled the knife handle away a little. 

 

43 keened and tried to shove his hips back,  _ fuck,  _ he could  _ hear  _ it, so close, so close. “Said you wouldn’t stop, oh, fuck,  _ fucking said—”  _ His voice was near incoherent, shaky and on the brink of sobs.

 

“I know, brother, I know, just give me a moment, I’ve nearly got it.” 

 

_ “Come on! Come fucking on!”  _

 

43’s codplate detached from his bodysuit, the thrumming handle pressed against his protected cock, and he screamed as he spurted into the crotch of his bodysuit. He was aware of yelling, but he had no idea what he was saying, if he was using words at all. The knife turned off quickly, but the handle continued to rub up and down him, coaxing more out of him, as he gradually became aware of 59 moaning in his ear. The moaning peaked a few seconds later, and the knife hit the grassy ground next to the stone while an armored hand dug into the inside of 43’s thigh.

 

43 made a low noise of exhausted sympathy and tried to relax his body, prevent it from cramping.

 

“Shit,” came the mumble a little later. “That was really, really excellent.”

 

“Yeah,” 43 admitted, lining himself up with the scope again and letting his finger rest next to the trigger. “Fuck. Put the plate back on.”

 

Fingers reattached the plate, giving 43’s bulge a gentle squeeze as they did so. “There. Thirty seconds to go, and we’re all ready for action. Wasn’t so bad.”

 

43 rested his head on the rifle a little, taking a moment to breathe. “Maybe we can do this sometimes. Just… now and then.”

 

“Whenever, Three. Whenever.”

**Author's Note:**

> I still have an absurd hard-on for death troopers, especially touch-starved, sexually inexperienced death troopers, and I am sort of sorry but not really. I keep meaning to write somebody getting absolutely fucking wrecked by a death trooper, and I keep ending up writing inexperienced fumbling. One of these days, people. One of these days.


End file.
